Death Awaits Us
by shortcircuitify
Summary: A meeting chanced by fate. An escape destined to happen. And a desperate attempt to leave behind the remnants of a bitter love, soured by blood. All the while, death awaits the Vileblood Queen and her doomed companion. Annalise/Alfred, slight AU
1. Chapter 1

Finally, he reached the rooftop terrace where the Hunter told him the Queen of the Vilebloods hid. The cold air whipped his Executioner cape into a frenzy, the snow ricocheting off of his golden helm sounding like bullets hitting his skull.

Finally, he would avenge his dear Martyr Logarius like so many Executioners had tried before him. He would be the one to bring his order back to glory, to strike down the heart of the Vileblood's power and be remembered as the savior of the Healing Church. The name Alfred would be remembered for the ages!

Slowly, his steps crunching the ice beneath his feet, he entered the stone cold chamber that housed the so-called abomination of a Queen. His helm covering his face, her mask covering her own. Hearing him enter, she looked up, though he could not see her face.

He stood before her, mockingly bowing to her, the irony obvious to both.

"Ah," her voice was oddly sweet, he noticed, tinged with a darker note beneath, "An Executioner. Come to kill me at last."

He did not respond, but drew the Logarius Wheel – the symbol of all that stood Holy to him – from his back, synching it with the power of the arcane. She had nowhere to run, no longer able to hide behind the solitary fortress Logarius had left for her.

When he did not respond, she stood tall and proud before him, spine straight and hands clasped before her.

"Very well," she almost whispered, the words echoing throughout the sparsely furnitured chamber. He did not expect the Queen of most foul beings to sound so weak and act so frail. He did not waver, her act not working to sway him.

"I shall go with dignity, you know," she giggled. _Giggled?_ It did not seem right for an immortal being to sound so young and vibrant, like some of the young initiatives of his own Healing Church.

Slowly, she lifted the adorned helm off of her head, revealing to him a woman no younger than a year to his age. Flowing locks of golden silk framed a face with bright eyes that held the wisdom of millennia, yet glowed like ice.

And for a moment, he was stunned.

 **A/N:** _Don't know where I'm going with this yet, or if I'm going anywhere :P let me know what you think?_


	2. Chapter 2

She stood before him frozen, as if the chill from the snow outside finally caught up with her. Her gaunt face and skinny frame held tight, as if concentrating to stay standing, as pale as the moon that hung over the sky. He in turn stood frozen, watching the light from the waning candles flicker over her features, refusing to move as if the moment would be lost.

A minute, then. He was beside her on her raised dais. His hand gripping her throat, strong enough to cause Annalise to groan in pain but not enough to crush her windpipe. Alfred lifted her into the air causing her to grasp at his arms, trying to pry herself from his grip. He was surprised with how strong she was, but he held fast.

Teeth gritted, voice strained he asked, "Where is the Queen of the Vilebloods?" He loosened his grip on her slightly to allow her answer, but kept her from reaching the ground.

She gasped for breath, before whispering hoarsely, " _What?_ "

He threw her viciously back into her seat, knocking the little wind out of her. Towering over her, he removed his golden helm and drew his face close to hers until their noses were almost touching, letting the heated metal fall to the ground with a resounded clank. She look at him and saw the madness in his eyes – bloodshot and hungry for more. She grinded her teeth, straining her jaw against the pressure.

"No one so young and innocent could be the ruler of abominations," his voice was ice, " _Where is the Queen of the Vilebloods_?"

Her eyes narrowed, glaring at him as his hot breath, musky with the stench of blood and death, wafted over her face. A smile, sickly sweet, crossed her face.

"Now," she drawled, "Why would your dear _Master_ Logarius imprison a young woman if she is not the most deadly enemy of the revered Healing Church?" She giggled again, a sound precious and foreign to Alfred's ear.

He stood up, his full height dwarfing her. Backing away slightly, he eyed her suspiciously, "What do you speak of? _Imprison_ you? He did not…"

Annalise too stood, approaching him, invading the space he claimed as his own until he again backed up to her, feeling a power strange and dark and vibrant radiate from the closeness of her body.

A smile, perhaps apologetic or perhaps sinister in its nature, "How can you kill one that is already dead?"


	3. Chapter 3

His mind whirled – he was not sure if it was from the loss of blood from his last battle, the strange information ringing in his eyes, or the closeness of those eyes ridden with ice.

He looked deep into those eyes, looking for any hint of sarcasm, of cruel humor, but instead he was met with a stern coldness. A serious expression, marred only by what lied hidden beneath its depths. He stayed silent for a moment too long, apparently, for she quickly turned her back to him and returned to stand upon her dais.

It mattered not, she was still shorter than him, reaching only about his eyes while standing on the raised platform.

"Explain," he stated.

"Gladly," She turned towards him once again, hands struggling to grasp something at her sides, perhaps a sword that lost its use after sitting in isolation for centuries.

"Answer me one thing – how do you stay alive for so long? How do you stay so vibrant and youthful, despite no doubt facing death a multitude of times?"

He eyed her wearily, approaching the dais until he stood before her, "The blo-"

" _Yes,_ the blood. The very same blood that I myself use to stay alive within these godforsaken walls – to birth an heir of the blood."

He clenched his jaw, the blood he injected into his thigh not long ago surging forward, calling for retribution of some sort. He was not sure of what, however.

"You lie."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Then strike me down and know in your heart the evil you so claim me to be is not that different from yourself after all. See me rise again before your eyes because this _blessed blood_ ," her voice cracked, anxious, "will not let me die."

The urge to pull the Wheel once again situated on his back and strike her for her insolence was strong, but instead he turned his back to her, pacing before her while absorbing her words.

The call of the Executioner ringed in his ears – the call to kill those with blood tainted with the vile substance Ludwig had warned the first of his kind of so long ago. He felt it in his bones – the blood boiling for release to kill the vilest of such creatures, their very leader. His eyes clouded with blood lust, but he refused to obey. He shook his head, needing answers.

"Laurence would not allow such dangerous blood to taint the finest Hunters of Yharnam, Logarius had told us himself… 'Fear the old blood'. The very blood you monsters took for yourselves and praised as if you were… _gods_." He spat the word out.

"…Do you truly believe so? That in their own battle for power they would not use the very same blood. Afraid of the thought of Yharnam's miracle spreading -" She stopped and sighed, her voice quiet and defeated.

He turned to look at her over her shoulder, "They were good men, do not doubt that," His voice was dark and anger laced every word. Part of him wanted to don his helmet once more, watch as he tore her flesh apart, being victorious in his cause.

He clenched his fists, hoping for clarity from the swirl of thoughts clouding his mind.

"Unable to truly kill me," Annalise continued, but he did not look at her, hearing her become so gentle causing his nerves to fray, "Logarius locked me here to starve – addicted to blood I did not wish to feast on any longer."

"And why the sudden change of heart – hoping to win favor with the Church after so long?"

Her laugh was harsh and cold, "No – before my imprisonment I saw what happened to this world. To my people – slaughtered by your _saviours,_ even my…" she shuddered, and he finally turned to look at her.

She was again seated on her throne, looking misplaced with her shoulders hunched, looking for all the world as if she merely wanted to become as small as possible and disappear. She looked at him, tears flowing down her porcelain cheeks.

"I merely want to _die,_ and perhaps once the blood clings to your skin and veins as it does to mine you will understand the consequences of your noble masters."

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the review and follows!_


	4. Chapter 4

Annalise watched him for a while, simply observing the conflict that was arising in his own mind. She could see him pass between madness, then doubt, and perhaps even sympathy, but it was mostly the madness that flooded his eyes.

Finally, after the tears had dried from her cheeks and she found a steady voice again, she spoke, albeit still a soft little sound, "We are at an impasse, then. You still wish to kill me, and I simply cannot die, even though the urge calls to me."

She looked down at her hands, almost demurely, and she wished she was again truly young, a foolish noble girl with a foolish romantic dream. Maybe, if she could really relive her life, she would have chosen Alfred. He might have hated her then too, but he was determined, and committed.

"Do not put words in my mouth," the words had a hard edge to them, but when she looked up towards his face it did not have the same jaggedness to it. No, it was soft, even.

"What are you talking about? Have you forgotten your goal already, the goal you have most likely held dear the whole of your childhood – to bring glory to an order than has long since seen its own destruction?" She knew she was rambling, but what more was there to do than to talk and talk and talk when the night was already so long?

"I said," this Alfred gritted through teeth that grinded upon each other in protest, " _do not put words in my mouth_." He sighed and his shoulders slumped as if in defeat.

He looked upon Annalise once more, taking her in, as if weighing his options over an inevitable decision. Finally, he strode over to the dais and sat upon the throne that stood beside her own. She eyed him questionably, but otherwise did not protest. Even in the space between them, she could feel his warmth, his agitation. It had been so long since someone had sat beside her, had her company.

Finally he turned to her, "It's obvious that the Church has hidden much from me," his voice was a soft whisper that echoed off the stone of her prison, and she wanted to believe its gentleness, "and I do not claim you know all of its secrets, but perhaps…"

He trailed off, and she waited.

"Perhaps you could tell your own story. From the beginning. _No secrets_ , for I shall know if you are lying," the madness had returned to his eyes, yet she felt no fear of being choked again. As soon as it was there, it was gone again, "Just – there is no reason to keep secrets… is there?"

She nodded, and stared into his eyes with sincerity. She understood.

"Yes, well, go ahead then. I'll listen. I won't even try to harm you this time," He smirked, and she almost flinched from the shock that the man whose goal had been to kill her his entire life was… trying to be _smart_ with her.

She blinked owlishly at him, before gathering her bearings and beginning her own tale.

" _I was, long ago, the daughter of the King and Queen of this castle…"_

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the reviews, the fav, and the follows! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

_They loved me, perhaps, thought it was never clear to me how they really saw me. I was a daughter, bred to be married to the most noble and richest family residing within great Castle Cainhurst. I was to sire children of noble blood - the family blood - and wed them off until they too became Kings and Queens._

 _Mother and Father barely spoke to me, however. I was called into court when I needed to make an appearance, stood and smiled at all the eligible suitors they had chosen from, and made my way back to my prison to await judgement of who would be lucky enough to gain my favor. I never found out who won – either because the King and Queen simply did not want me to know or because they could never find someone… suitable enough for what they desired of my own children._

 _And I never did find out that answer, for before an engagement or marriage was set a strange man from your Yharnam made an appearance in court. He was not received kindly, for rumor had spread of the blood that seeped down Yharnamites throats and apparently cured every illness. Needless to say, the royals of Cainhurst did not take kindly to the idea of mixing blood with the commoners. If it wasn't for my interference I was certain that the King would have thrown him out on his ass the moment he spoke up._

 _Luckily, I latched onto his arm fast enough so that wasn't possible, and the strange and handsome young Laurence and I sashayed through court, speaking with nobles and other political intrigues that so fancied our tongues._

 _I took an affinity to him immediately, for he was strange and foreign, with a sharp tongue and mind that could match my own. I was enamoured, and his snake tongue brought us to my chambers that night._

 _When I awoke, the place Laurence was beside me the night before was cold and empty, and so our secret affair continued. Laurence would sneak into my chambers each night and disappear by morning, in the hopes that the King would not figure out our arrangement. It was not so._

 _When Father found out, he was absolutely livid. Laurence was chased out of Cainhurst by our knights for god knows how long, and I was honestly surprised he escaped with his life. The only way I know was because when Father returned he locked me away to my chambers for good, never to see the outside of them for quite some time, in fear I would search for Laurence of my own volition no doubt. I was never allowed to leave after that, the only people to interact with the servants visiting in the mornings and evenings with my meals._

 _I was inconsolable. I knew if Laurence returned he would be killed, and so I wept for weeks over the loss of my love. I refused to eat, but as the months continued on it became harder and harder with the growing of my stomach._

 _I became heavy with child, but was nothing more than skin and bones. The King did not know what to do with me, for I was still his only child; I was dying, pregnant with a bastard, and still I was trapped in my tower of stone._

 _Finally the night of my labor came, and with it the return of my sweet Laurence. He snuck into my chamber – from where he came I did not know, and I did not think to ask for it was too good to be true that he had finally returned for me._

" _I love you," he whispered to me as I birthed our child, but before I could he produced a vial of blood a dark crimson, "If we are to be together, drink this blood – the binding of the common and the royal, and our child shall prosper."_

 _He was a man of Brygenwerth, he told me once, and so I believed him and drank the vial, giving birth to a beautiful little girl soon afterwards. She was healthy and strong, like her father, but before I could look upon her face Laurence took her from me, striding from the room into the hallway. I cried out to him to wait, to stop, but he did not. Weakened as I was, I wanted to see my child, and so I limped after him, following him to the main hall of Cainhurst castle._

 _There I saw all of the royals of the castle – my few friends, my mother and father, all slain, lying in pools of their own blood as hunters from the god-blessed Healing Church stood above them, weapons and guns caked in blood. I cried out at the sight, and then turned again to Laurence. He stood at the foot of my Father's throne, addressing the promenade of disgusting hunters at his feet, dear Logarius leading the troop as the lead hunter._

" _This here is a child of Vile Blood – cursed to be so because her dear mother imbued the Vile Blood that we hunters have promised to never touch for its ungodly power is not of the Healing Church!" He then produced the vial I had drank from, from his pocket, "And here is the proof that those of Castle Cainhurst drink the Vile Blood! Take this child, and we shall do with it what we see fit to show the last of the Vile Bloods that this will not be tolerated. From this day, we are Executioners, seeking the last of the Vile Bloods to kill! One is here for your hunting!"_

 _The crowd turned to look at me, covered in my own blood from my birthing. Laurence did not love me, but he loved the rally of his hunters. Perhaps he wanted Castle Cainhurst for himself and so he tricked me to have a child of blood, or perhaps to find a new base for his hunters of the Healing Church – a political move to rally his hunters, make them again have a cause to fight against and believe in, which so happened to be me and my bloodline. Perhaps he simply hated me._

 _I saw Laurence disappear into the mob that slowly began to surround me, and that was the last I saw of my child. I screamed out for her – to see her one last time, to save her the misery of what those horrid Executioners would do to her, but alas I could not. Logarius led the group, called a leader before he even killed his fist victim._

 _He was the first to take a swing at my flesh, cutting into skin and rubbing against bone, but the pain I waited for did not come. I looked at the wound on my arm, and it was there and real, but it did not bleed, and I felt no pain._

 _The blood did not transfer to my daughter, no, it stayed inside of me. I gave birth to a child of flesh, and I was stuck in a shell of blood. I screamed again, a cry of anger and hurt, and I begged the Executioners to fight me, cut me up into pieces for I was alone and I could not die._

 _A few did, trying to attack me though it was of no use, while others fled back with Laurence, intimidated by the immortal woman made of skin and bones, establishing the order back in Yharnam. When the last of the hunters stopped trying to kill flesh that could not be harmed, Logarius looked upon me and dragged me up up up the winding staircases of this forsaken castle. He finally seated me in this very room, telling me how vile I am over and over until his voice was hoarse._

 _He took his position in front of my prison ever since, Executioners coming and going to kill the last of the royals that still roam these halls while Logarius has watched over me, to make sure I never have another child of blood to establish the line of Vile Bloods once more. That is, until your dear hunter came and defeated him and you also showed your face in this forbidden place._

 _And here I have sat, alone with absolutely nothing left to my name except a false title that the man I thought I loved gave to me out of an ambition much greater than my heart._

 **A/N:** _Sorry for the wait, lots of tests lately and such. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and thank you for all the favs and follows!_


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred listened, but not once did he turn to the Vileblood Queen to watch her face. He kept his head bowed, balanced on his hands which he propped on his knees. She could see a vein in his neck and his jaw twitch ever so slightly occasionally while she was divulging her past.

Despite her attempt to stop her tears, after a while she could not hold them back. She let them fall silently down her face, only choking slightly while she told her tale.

Once she was finished, Alfred simply sat, unmoving, and for a moment she was certain he had simply turned into a statue. Despite the awkward silence falling between them, Annalise spoke up, unable to take the deafening silence much longer. It was worse than when she was alone, somehow.

"I do not expect or want your pity," she had more to say, more to tell him. She wanted desperately to tell him that it was not him who killed her so long ago, condemned her to this fate, that he was fed blood from those who lied, but instead her tears flowed again.

She did not attempt to wipe them away, nor to stop them any longer, and she simply closed her eyes, accepting defeat. Accepting the madness she could feel seeping off of Alfred. From the hunt or the blood or from her she was not certain.

She heard him stand, finally, and walk over toward her own seat. She kept her eyes closed until he touched her chin lightly, forcing them open only to be met with his face much closer than she was expecting. Their noses were almost touching, and she was forced to stare into his eyes, her heart starting to race when she realized the madness was not there, at least not for the moment. His eyes were clear, and dark, and she stared into them and was lost for a moment before his voice broke her revelry.

"Why have you not killed me? Does the idea not entertain you?" He carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks, but his eyes never broke away from hers. For a moment her ire ran high, threatening to tear her apart. She wanted to yell at him that she never killed, never had the desire, that a monster had no right to question her.

But the desire was gone in an instant, and she almost slumped into his grasp. It had been so long, and she was tired. Logarius was no company, and she had no intention to return to desolate isolation so soon.

She returned his ardent stare, "I am no murderer nor do I wish to be. If my only alternative is seclusion without the promise of death than I shall accept your presence gladly."

His eyebrow cocked upwards, and she dare say she saw a smirk, "You enjoy my presence, Queen of nothing?"

The madness was gone, at least for now, and she welcomed the reprieve that Alfred brought. She had not been teased good-naturedly in a long time, and her lips upturned into a gentle smile.

He moved away from her, and she felt the cold where he once stood. He stood in front of her, back held high, and spoke softly, "You have told me your story. And I have nowhere in particular that I am destined to be. Isn't it only fair that I tell mine?"

 **A/N:** _Thank you for all the favs, follows, and most definitely the reviews! :) It's awesome to hear what you guys think, and I'm glad you are enjoying the story! It's definitely difficult to write two people interacting in a secluded environment, but I hope I'm doing well!_


	7. Chapter 7

"Come, let's take a walk like I tell you my own tale – I warn you, however, it is not as extravagant as yours was and I will not be able to match it," he teased, reaching out a hand for her to take. She hesitated a moment before laying her hand in his and allowing him to pull her up.

"Go on a walk? To where? Is Cainhurst not overridden with foul creatures due to the spilling of Old Blood? Although I cannot die I would prefer _not_ to be mauled for I remember it to be extremely painful," she griped shrewdly as Alfred led her out of the damp and dark of her throne room to the world beyond. No longer her world, but no longer anyone else's world either, really.

Alfred did not let go of her hand as he led her out into the grounds of the Forgotten Castle, and she watched how he delicately took her hand in his. When they finally passed the hidden entrance that had kept her trapped for eons, she hid her eyes behind her free hand from the blinding light that assaulted her.

She hissed in pain, because even the ground hurt her vision, the white of the snow reflecting the moon overhead and she eventually closed her eyes altogether before getting adjusted to her new environment. Alfred watched closely, but did not utter a word, watching as she hid herself from the effervescent light of the moon and the snow sprinkling the ground of the rooftop they were standing on. Finally, after a few minutes of opening her eyes only to close them again in pain, she could survey her surroundings without having to squint against the light that did not seem to bother Alfred. She frowned at him.

Her eyes still ached in the backs of their sockets, but she did not mind it as she finally looked at the Castle she once called 'home' surround her. They were on a rooftop, a throne standing in front of the entrance to her forced sanctuary that she assumed Logarius sat in for his own long years.

She slipped her hand out of Alfred's and quickly ran to one of the sides of the roof, her feet clumsy from disuse over the uneven tiles scattered across it, until she ran into the railing lining the entirety of the eaves. She leaned against it heavily, trying to drink in as much of the castle that lay before her as she could.

She looked at the roofs across from the one she was standing on, monstrous gargoyles that she could not remember from her youth lining most of them. She stared at them, trying to determine what she was unsure of from just looking at them, but watching one of them suddenly move, walking on its hind legs and wings like some sort of dog almost made her sick. She turned her gaze downwards almost instantly – to the various buildings and turrets and abbeys that accumulated together to create the monumental form of Cainhurst Castle. The buildings themselves looked the same, probably from disuse, and only some were seen crumbling, far in the distance, closer to the smaller Baron's lands, where the buildings were never as well made, than the actuality of Cainhurst.

She heard Alfred approach her, his booted feet crunching on the old tiles and new snow beneath them and his hand softly grasping her shoulder as he stood beside her. He did not say anything, and neither did Annalise, her gaze still on her surroundings, her eyes watering from the sharp, cold, wintery air that whipped across her face, her loose hair falling across her face sporadically but never blocking her vision for long. And still, she did not look away.

This Castle was the same horrible prison it was when she had lived here long ago - before she fell for the attentions of a lecherous pig in disguise - except it was also infinitely more grotesque in this new era.

Her eyes fell on the grand gates that were always closed when she remembered. Now, they were wide open, waiting for the unknown to come and blow Cainhurst to its knees. She heard a horrifying shriek in the distance, and turned her attention quickly to the courtyard she once spent many of her days hiding in, away from her royal duties.

It was blanketed in a thick layer of snow like the rest of the landscape, with tracks dotted throughout. She vomited mostly acid and blood, upon seeing the ghastly things that roamed the yard – parasites with blood sacks lining their abdomen, hair thick and covering their faces as their tongues lashed out at a figure trying to fight them. He had a saw in one hand, pistol in the other, and looking very much like a hunter of beasts, but otherwise she could not make out the face of the person, nor did she think she knew them, anyway.

Were those vile creatures once the nobles that roamed the halls with her? Or did they come when the slaughter was finished, filling their stomachs with the blood of the fallen? She did not wish to know.

Alfred rubbed her back soothingly, the purpose of their walk long forgotten as Annalise leaned over the low railing of the roof because she could not take the sight before her anymore.

Once she was done, her stomach emptier than it had been before, she finally turned to Alfred. Before she could speak, he whispered tiredly, "That is the Hunter that has freed you of your prison and brought me here in turn." His eyes were cold, but she did not feel the hot madness seeping off of him as she had before. This was hate, purely of his own volition and not of the blood that was not his own, and she was unsure why.

She watched him, waiting for him to continue as he clenched his jaw, "He had called me here to kill you, of course. He had given me a summons to Cainhurst, obviously in hope that I could fulfill my duty, but I am unsure of the benefits for him if I were to slay you."

She couldn't help the wail that tore through her, knowing that the Hunter would eventually find his way up to them to make sure Alfred had done his duty and he could reap the rewards of her corpse, whatever they were.

"Because you are an Executioner? He thinks… you can kill me?" She asked, trying to keep her tears in check once again. The coolness of loneliness had weaned her emotions thin, and she no longer could hide them behind the metal mask that was still lying on the floor somewhere in her throne room.

He nodded solemnly, and she fell into him, gripping the front of his robes in her small fists as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

He would come up here and kill Alfred for his heresy and torture her in hopes that she would eventually die under his hands, no matter his status in the Church. She sobbed into Alfred's chest. And then she would be all alone again. She would not be able to fight him – she was never a fighter, never willed to learn, and he would destroy her if he so wished, although death would never come.

She looked up at him, away from the safety of his chest and watched as the Hunter made his way into the castle proper, away from their sights. She turned to look into Alfred's eyes, and was glad to see in the moonlight they were dark and clear, "I do not want to be alone," she cried, and she knew she did not make much sense but he nodded in understanding anyway.

Despite being immortal in a sense, she was still the young woman she always was, scorned for her love and devotion, her emotions running high as she realized her doom was close.

"I wish to leave," she told him, although it was more a question than anything. Perhaps once she would leave these cursed lands, the home that was never her home, her age would catch up to her and she would be reduced to bone powder before the Executioner's eyes, or perhaps the blood would bubble up and tear her flesh from bone. Perhaps she would be able to live a proper life, although the scourge was still high and beasts no doubt roamed the lands as they had only started to when she was pushed into slumber.

Nobody would recognize her face, at least, and she hoped none would be able to feel the wicked blood that flowed through her veins. And there was always the chance that the Hunter would find them before they fled, or Alfred deciding his own safety was more important than the company she provided.

Her stomach flipped at the last one, hoping out of all that that one would not come to pass, and waited for his response, never taking her eyes off of his.

A look of determination filled his eyes, and he nodded as his only response, once again taking her hand in his.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for all the favs, follows, and reviews! Longer chapter, woo! I'm starting to get the rhythm of their relationship and I really like this chapter, I hope you do too :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Annalise, Queen of Nothing, prisoner to nobility and now to blood, would finally be free. Free of the home she would forever hate, free of the blood that Laurence imbued her with, free of the memories she relived in her isolation through so many years.

And now, she was nervous, anxiety crawling through her stomach as Alfred took her hand in his, his grip strong and insistent as he dragged her across the vast expanse of roof they were standing on. She pulled back a little, and he turned around to look at her, confusion written in his furrowed brow.

"What about the blood?" She asked. It called for her to stay in this place, this nightmare where she was ruler. What blood was calling – whether the blue blood of her royalty or the blood of Old that thrived off the blood dregs that filled her kingdom, she was uncertain, but it filled her with a desire to stay, her body sluggish against its pull.

It told of foreboding if she were to leave, and she could not deny its influence.

His eyes flashed, and she wondered again why he was helping her leave, "We either learn about its influence over you once we leave this forsaken place, or you wait until the Hunter comes to torture you for eternity. What is your decision?" That cold hard determination she had first seen when he had entered her prison was back – the look of a man loyal to his cause.

Perhaps she was his new cause, the Executioners forgotten in the days they spent together between stone walls. She shook her head of those thoughts.

"Alright, lead the way," was her response although she did not look him in the eye again, and he obliged by dragging her down the center of the roof to the other end. He cursed under his breath when he realized the way he came could not be used for escape, and realized the Hunter would be coming that way as well and quickly turned to the other end of the roof to where there was a break in the fence lining the expansive terrain. Annalise behind him, he looked down, and behind a flurry of snow he saw a body lying on the far ground below.

Whether Execution, Vileblood, or some adventurous Hunter he could not tell, and he was not keen to figure out either.

Annalise watched Alfred carefully since he was standing so precariously close to the edge of the roof, waiting to pull him back in case he slipped over the icy surface. Instead, she was pulled forward, now on the opposite side of the fence, clinging to it for dear life. Alfred pulled her forward, urging her to move but waiting to make sure she wouldn't slip either.

They walked carefully along the length of the roof and its fence, Annalise with her eyes almost completely closed with only Alfred's hand to guide her, and Alfred leaning as far from the fence as he could to get a good view of the buildings below them.

Finally, he found a roof directly beneath them and not too far as to shatter their ankles should they fall on it. Without warning, he pushed Annalise forward, causing her to lose her already unsteady footing, falling on the roof sharply on her shoulder, causing her to cry out in pain. Alfred followed quickly afterwards, his ankles protesting the strain, before picking Annalise into his arms. She hissed at the pain in her shoulder and glared at him for the sudden jolt, his only answer to look upwards where a figure dressed in black was watching them intently.

After quickly making sure Annalise's shoulder wasn't dislodged in a painful manner, Alfred quickly ran to the opposite of the small roof they were now on and plunged, hoping to whatever gods that were above that there was solid ground beneath his feet.

His ankles again were weakened from the impact, but Annalise was safely in his arms and he was not dead yet so he took the miracle and again began to run to the opposite side of the building he was on, praying that the figure in black was not chasing after them.

He knew that would most likely be too much to ask of divine beings.

He ran the length of this roof instead of the width this time, and with luck found that he was below one of the large walkways that ran between the main hall of the Castle Cainhurst and one of their armory stores.

He quickly jumped down, and Annalise hid her face in the fabric of his chest when she saw one of the gargoyles from before swoop down right when Alfred touched down on the hard stone. Weakened from his falls and Annalise, who was still huddled in his arms, Alfred decided to run past the ghoulish monster; he found his opening once it opened its wings wide and made to swoop down at him. He lunged past the attack, running as fast as his injured legs would take him into the castle proper.

He ran through the halls of the castle, glancing once or twice at paintings that he now recognized Annalise in, her frown and expressive eyes telling in each and every portrait, and was thankful that the Hunter had already dispatched of all the ghosts that roamed its halls who seemed to return for vengeance even after being slain.

Once they were in the main hall, between the castle's hallways and the courtyard filled with bloodsuckers, Alfred leaned against a wall to catch his breath. He glanced to and fro to make sure the Hunter was still nowhere in sight, and then looked to Annalise, who he refused to let go and was watching him intently.

"Why are you helping me?" She asked quietly, still stunned that he was still willing to help her, carrying her over rooftops when he could have made it across much easier himself, saving himself. It confused her, this devoted Executioner.

His breathing heavy, he did not answer, and instead began his sprint across the courtyard, dodging pass the bloodsuckers, finding them fat and slow, although still horrifying. Finally, they had made it to the gates of Cainhurst, and he put Annalise to her feet, certain they had time before the Hunter would find their trail.

He rubbed her arms with his hands, checking her over more thoroughly to make sure she wasn't seriously injured from her tumble, and thankfully her shoulder seemed to be in order besides some bruising. Her eyes were dazed, and she looked far off over Alfred's shoulder before her knees gave out and she stumbled once again into his arms.

She could hear his voice was calling to her, but it was far-off and fuzzy, her only focus not falling to the darkness that seemed to cloud the corners of her vision. She could feel the blood in her veins bubbling to the surface, calling to her and forcing her brain into remission. The voices, the blood, it called to her, to _home._

This was her home, she should stay here, where her subjects – no matter how nightmarish they appeared – lived, and she was there to rule over them. To bring in a new era of the blood in her veins, spread it to the populous, bring Hunters of her own to share in her vile blood, like Laurence had predicted so long ago.

Her mind warred, and she collapsed against the cold iron of the Cainhurst Gates, Alfred trying to reach her within the recesses of her muddled mind, when she vaguely saw him suddenly turn, a figure in black approaching them, and Alfred leaving her side to fight the blood on her own. If she could scream, she would, but she had no strength to move an inch.

It was not pleased that she was leaving Cainhurst, the fortress of her legacy, and she was not pleased she allowed it to numb her limbs and mind until she was submissive to its desires.

Blood spattered the ground before her, she was mildly aware, but she was too preoccupied with fighting the parasitic presence crawling through her. She fought, thinking of Alfred's face, thinking of her horrible existence within this very place. The rulers of this land she was forced to call parents, and the man who had stolen her heart.

She would not stay here.

She was unsure of how much time had passed, but the darkness that had left her with pinhole vision finally receded, her mind returning, and she felt conscious one again – in control, at least for the moment.

Alfred was facing her once more, pulling her to her feet although her legs still protested the movement. She was able to stand up with his support, and he half-dragged her away from the bloody mess that was left in the courtyard behind them. The Hunter was nowhere to be seen, and Annalise looked up to see Alfred's face bruised and battered quite intensely.

"…Have little time before he returns, and we must leave this place before he does," she heard, her hearing still far away and distant. He looked to her, and to her surprise cracked a small grin, "I should have brought my helmet."

He was talking about his face, she realized.

"You do not look so horrid," she replied, and before Alfred could think to reply or laugh, a loud snort was heard ahead of them. Annalise turned to see a spectral horse standing before them. The bridge was broken, no doubt from the past Executioners that had raided the castle, and attached to the horses was a carriage, although not of the Cainhurst style. It looked foreign, and weird, and Annalise only hesitated slightly before allowing Alfred to assist her into the carriage.

The bloodsuckers were much worse.

Alfred climbed in behind her, closing the door soundly with a click as the horses started on their path without a driver. Annalise's eyes felt heavy as she sat in the soft seat, her body drained from their pursuit and her fight against the blood. She knew she had won this time, but she was uncertain how long she could keep it at bay before it again called to her to return to her prison. This time, she was still close to its fortress, just outside the castle gates.

She was uncertain if she could fight it from a distance.

He placed his outer garb over her, explaining that she must be freezing in her thin gown. She was, she vaguely realized, already on the way to slumber, but the irony that she was wearing her enemies' emblem was not lost on her.

"Will you miss this place?" He asked her, quietly, seeing her exhausted form slump beside him.

She hesitated only a moment before replying a resounding, "No."

Before she drifted off into a restless slumber, she heard her, now companion, mutter, "At least one good thing came of the Hunter – he has brought me to you."


	9. Chapter 9

Annalise awoke from her dreamless sleep groggily, to the noise of what she could only describe as a crazed woman's screams. The warm body of Alfred was not beside her, or anywhere in the carriage, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes furiously at the sight of her missing companion.

She opened the blinds lining the carriage walls, and was met with what she could only describe as a rural village in the midst of a spring night. There was no snow lining the ground in blinding white. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

She heard another one of those blood-curdling screams, although she wasn't so certain it was a woman, and quickly shuffled to the other side of the carriage, trying to find the source of the awful noises. Instead, she found Alfred in the midst of a battle, a bloated figure with its face shrouded by a hood striking at him with an axe than was most definitely larger than her entire frame.

Her heart beat stuttered in her chest, and she almost cried out when Alfred barely missed one of its blows, falling onto his back and stopping its pursuit with a quick swing of his wheel. Scared out of her wits, the insane cryings still echoing in her ears, she flailed around the carriage, finding the door locked. She scratched at the mechanism closing the carriage shut, trying with all her might to open it and help Alfred, although she did not how she would be able to do so. She needed to get to him, to help him, but she did not know how to work the strange contraption on the door.

All she knew was that she needed to help him _now._

Her vision began to blur from the tears forming in her eyes, and her nails hurt from scratching at the metal lock. Suddenly, she heard Alfred cry again and sobbed. How could he defeat such a horrible creature by himself? That thing was no doubt powerful – it could probably pick him up and throw him about like a rag. She shuddered at the image, and began trying to pry the lock open again, with renewed fervor.

Her breath hitched when she heard the struggles outside the carriage suddenly stop, and only the whinnying horses could be heard. She waited for Alfred to return to the carriage and open the infernal lock that trapped her, but she did not hear his footfalls. She allowed her tears to overtake her senses, trailing down her cheeks, and she couldn't help the sorrow that filled her gut. She had not made it past Cainhurst without her only companion dying, and she, trapped.

How fitting.

She looked out the window where she had saw Alfred struggling earlier, only to find the image of the quaint little village in their place, long grass dancing in the breeze. The sound of the carriage opening behind her startled her, and she turned around quickly to see Alfred standing in the doorway, clothes and face matted with blood. Of whose, she was uncertain, and she did not think she wanted to know.

He stood before her, unmoving, and she took the moment to recollect herself. She assumed he was doing the same, allowing the adrenaline of the battle to dissipate and the stench of blood to take its place. When she was done wiping her eyes of stray tears, she finally looked into her companion's face.

And the madness was back. Gone was the soft, dark eyes filled with her concern when she was pushed off a bloody roof, and in its place was a cold, yet wild, stare. His pupils rapidly dilated and constricted, and he was close enough that she could see his iris's swirl with what could only be red as deep as blood, mixing with the natural hazel.

Her blood ran cold, and she shivered at his look, uncertain if he too saw her as an enemy, as he once did in her throne room, but with ten times more power – the adrenaline flowing through his veins making his mind hazier and his pistol cocked at the ready.

Blood dripped from his mouth, and again, she was uncertain if it was his own, but the frothiness that lined it made him look like a wild animal that had been caged for too long. Her own blood sang to her, reminding her of her treason, taunting her of her newfound friend's sudden turn, and she cursed that it decided to make her dizzy at a moment when she needed to stay alert, lest he decided to pounce.

Her willpower faltered, but before it could, " _Alfred_ ," his name, the sound clawing at her throat, the blood crawling through her protesting.

But from what she could make out of her slowly receding vision, it was enough. His head visibly snapped, as if from a trance, and although the angry and cold edge to his stiff stance still wore on, she was recognition in his eyes – he saw her as Annalise, not another blood-hungry monster.

Still not capable of the gentle movements she felt just a day prior, he dragged her by the wrist from her curled position in the carriage and lifted her slightly into the air, her arm protesting the movement, before settling her on her feet. Her wrist ached, but it did not stop him from tightening his hold on it and dragging her forwards. She was surprised her legs stilled worked when her mind was so preoccupied with fighting off the parasite thriving in her veins.

She could scarcely make out the sound of the insufferable women's shrieking becoming louder, and she wondered why they would head in such a direction. There would no doubt be more creatures that would love to kill them for fresh blood. More creatures to fuel Alfred's bloodlust.

The long grass she had seen earlier scratched at her legs, making them mildly itchy, and her mind was beginning to become hazy. A headache formed, severe and deafening, and the only thing keeping her upright was the constant pull of Alfred's hand on her wrist. Or perhaps it was him simply touching her, keeping her grounded within herself.

Either way, the moment the cries became too shrill and Alfred suddenly dropped her arm, she collapsed, darkness seeping through her, and she did not find joy in this moment of respite.

 **-oooooo-**

Her head throbbed horribly, aching from the bridge of her nose to right behind her closed eyes. She did not want to open them, but when she finally did, she was pleased that it was not to bright daylight, but rather almost complete darkness.

She felt the stiff wood of a pallet below her, and rotting wood walls surrounded her, the only light coming from a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling of what she assumed was the house she was laying in. Slowly, she sat up in her place, rubbing her temples, glad that the blood had again receded and she was in control of her body, although it was rather stiff, and her joints were aching. At least the horrible screaming had stopped.

She turned her head to see Alfred's prone form sitting against the wall adjacent to her makeshift bed, and she assumed he was asleep, until his head lolled in her direction and he immediately stood, crouching at her side.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He carefully took one of her arms in his own, and she noticed a dirtied and worn bandage covering her wrist. Alfred looked her in the eyes, and although there was still an excitement that made her uneasy, the madness had again subsided for the moment. He looked so tired, and it again made her ache, "I am sorry about your wrist… I do not know what came over me."

She took her hand back from his warm hands to examine it herself, "It was the blood," she replied to his question, "It calls to me. I do not know if I can fight it. I… I don't know what it wants, or why it calls. I fear its power will only grow."

That familiar look of determination crossed his face – the soft one, "That is troubling. I- I don't know…" he attempted to voice his concerns, and grew frustrated at his lack of knowledge of the blood of Cainhurst. _True_ knowledge, not the propaganda of the Church. Or, perhaps what ran through her was the blood of secrets Laurence fed her. Either way, he did not have the answers he wished he could provide to her, to ease her pain, the constant strain in her face from what he now knew was her fighting the blood. He stood up, checking her over once more for serious injury, "We cannot linger here for long, however. We must continue on, lest the remaining find us. From there – from there we can work on the issues your blood brings."

She did not appreciate his abrasive tone, as if it was her fault that her blood called her back to her cursed birth place. _He_ had been the one to accept her offer of freedom, to help her leave her throne, who was he to hate her for the blood she could not control?

 _The remaining?_ Did that mean Alfred had killed those screaming women? Then why were his eyes not clouded with the lust for battle? Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip at the thought, confused more than ever, and she allowed him to pull her up into his warm arms.

"It will be faster to carry you." His voice was soft, as if in apology, and she was too tired to fight him. He began carrying her out of the shanty house, and she wrapped her arms gingerly around his neck. She could walk fine, she knew, but her limbs were still sore, and she would not deny the help he was supplying. His arms soothed her immediately into an easy lull.

"Where are we?"

One of Alfred's eyebrows cocked upwards, and he looked down at her as they walked through the long grass and dirt roads Annalise had seen earlier. The odd twilight still blanketed the sky, and the humidity of the spring night filled her lungs.

"Do you mean you do not recognize this place?"

She looked at the ground below her, avoiding his gaze, "In case you were unaware, I never had the opportunity to leave Cainhurst. It was not as if the daughter of nobility was allowed to wander of her own free will." Her tone was biting, embarrassed.

"Forgive me. This used to be a small trading village, the entrance to Cainhurst Castle – the bridge that no longer is – was what brought many far and wide to it, and it had fair trade thanks to nobles visiting the castle and plain traders who wished to at least see its gleaming gates in the distance. Or so I was told. Since the scourge of the beast, it has been renamed to 'Henwick Charnel Lane'."

"Isn't that a bit morbid? I assume that is why the women cry here, because of the scourge?"

He nodded his assent, "The scourge _is_ morbid. They scream to those above for a time that they themselves do not remember."

"…Then where shall we go? If the scourge has reached this far?"

He frowned, "I do not know, but far away from here. Perhaps to Eileen? I do not know where she lingers now, though, so perhaps Djura will grant us safe passage into Old Yharnam…" It sounded like he was talking to himself, mumbling about their next destination.

Although it made her uneasy he did not know where they heading, it comforted her being away from Cainhurt's high, stone walls. Although her own blood frightened her, she had Alfred. And perhaps should could calm the madness running through his veins in thanks for all his help to her so far. His Executioner garb was torn, covered in blood, and dirtied – she could no longer see his beloved symbol behind all the grime anymore.

She relaxed in his arms, her body warm and soft from his touch, and simply listened to him speak about all the destinations they could away to.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for all of the follows and favorites to this story! I'm happy people are enjoying it! Also thank you SO MUCH to Jessica and Pipkin in the Grass for your reviews! They were so sweet and awesome and I love hearing from you guys, and that you are enjoying this story so much! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!_


	10. Chapter 10

Annalise curled up beside the raging fire Alfred had built up, his garb shielding her from the chill of the night.

When had she ever felt the cold so clearly? As if the frost had gathered near her feet, leaving them numb and prickly.

They had set up camp near the Grand Cathedral, the night raging long and weary. Alfred had carried her partway through Hemwick, for perhaps a day (she could no longer tell), before the adrenaline had truly left his system and the weariness had settled in. She walked beside him the rest of the way, running when the screams of the women of the Lane became too loud, and his hulking form dredging on beside her. They had finally found Yharnam, and the city looked strange and foreign to her eyes.

As she took in the sprawling city before her, its strange architecture filling her eyes – the looming buildings and incensed doorways and masked protectors roaming the streets - her gaze shifted to Alfred's pistol, loaded and ready. They snuck through dark alleys and hidden doorways until they had settled once more into the open air of the night. The smell of beasts and blood permeated the air, and she covered her mouth with Alfred's coat. The city was large, but Annalise felt claustrophobia settling in while they wandered through its narrow alleys. So, Alfred had found a place relatively safe where they could sleep out in the open. Behind her stood a large graveyard, before her the looming Cathedral. She wondered how Alfred ever felt welcomed within its cold arms.

Once he had her settled and warm, he set off for the Grand Cathedral, in search of Eileen the Crow. He had talked about her while Annalise laid in his arms the night previous, an honorable and loyal Hunter. Foreign to the land of Yharnam, she had moved to the city when she was young, and when old age had finally began to take her, she shifted her gaze to the deadly Hunters who had turned to the scourge when it reared its ugly head in the city's streets. A beastly townsfolk compared to a deranged Hunter – mad and skilled and hungry for flesh – was no match, and Eileen was known for executing them before they wreaked havoc on those still human.

Annalise, hesitant, had asked to meet her. A noble Hunter was one she had wished to meet, for she had a soft spot for those loyal and just and wanted to – in some way – improve her opinion of the Church, but Alfred had quickly refused. He mumbled to her that it would be for the best if she stayed behind, for Eileen had a weathered history with the residents of Cainhurst, and had left. Her stomach churned uncomfortably.

When he returned, his face was grim and red, his eyes swollen.

"She is dead," he whispered, voice hoarse, and he did not look Annalise in the eye as he slowly turned back around, shoulders slumped, to the Grand Cathedral. She sat alert and ready, waiting for his return. And he did, a large sack over his shoulder.

She did not dare ask, but at her wide gaze, Alfred explained that he would perform a Sky Burial, the only suitable passing for one such as Eileen. Annalise did not ask, afraid of what a Sky Burial entailed from the grim look on his face.

He brushed past her towards the graveyard, and she sat, and when the hours became long, she laid on her side beside the warm fire. When had she ever felt tired?

When Alfred returned, he looked more worn than she had ever seen him – more worn than when the madness left his blood, all its energy leaving him with it. He sat close to her head, staring at the flames licking the dark sky, and despite herself she scooted closer to him until her head sat snuggly in his lap.

He stiffened at first, but soon relaxed, and hesitating only slightly, began running a hand through her tangled locks.

It was strange, but his hands were soothing, and she was soon lulled into a comfortable state between the waking and dreaming world. After a moment of silence, the only sound the flames, he spoke – his voice soft and warm – the voice of Alfred that she remembered.

"She was a mentor to me. When I was still a child; abandoned and lonely, she took me under her wing. The Hunters were glorious when Yharnam still saw the sun. They would parade across the streets – the Grand Cathedral casting a shadow over their forms as they went to train in the forests far away from Byrgenwerth, or to conquer lands that no one had ever heard of before. They were so much more than what they are now… or perhaps I had always imagined them in a more glorious light than what they actually were." Annalise sat quietly, his voice soothing, and she hung on his every word.

"And so Eileen took me in, tutoring me in the art of the Hunters – in their rhetoric, their styles, and their skills. She was a mother to me. And so, like all glorious Hunters, she left to Castle Cainhurst to fight the good fight against those the Executioners did not cleanse the first time they passed through the castle. It must have been overridden by those horrible monsters by then, not the nobles I was taught to fear – Eileen came back a mess. Her knee was shattered, casted for a year. But she never told me what had happened," he snorted, "Probably because of her famous Hunter's pride.

"And so I, the young idiot we all are at some point," at that, Annalise gently nodded her head, "Assumed the Vilebloods had injured her – the magnificent Eileen! I immediately transferred to become an Executioner and was taught of Martyr Logarius and the forbidden blood," he stayed quiet a moment, "But soon it was no longer vengeance for Eileen. Not really. Martyr Logarius and his ideals clouded my mind, and soon I was worshipping the Church in the hopes that one day I too would be called to Cainhurst, to rid the world of its evil plague."

Another silence fell over them, long and heavy.

"And now Eileen is dead."

Annalise pulled his hand from her hair and held it in both of hers, and kissed his palm gently. He again stiffened, and she quickly let go of it, settling once more into his lap. She felt the warmth his body brought, the ache in her heart from his story, and did not know what to say. It had been too long since she had felt anything besides the cold of the stone of Cainhurst, and the aching emptiness inside.

He, again hesitantly, moved her head from his lap, and she immediately felt the cold. He laid beside her, not touching her, but close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other as Annalise laid on her back. The flames played with the contours of his face, throwing his features in sharp relief as she stared at him. He looked upwards at the stars, while she continued staring at him.

Finally, her eyes heavy with sleep, she whispered, "Sorry," although it was mostly muffled as she had covered her face with his thick coat.

He smiled then, melancholic, "Thank you," he replied, "I only hope that I do not go mad. Eileen would have my head if I started growing fur all over. She would skin me, and most certainly hang me on her mantle!"

 **A/N:** _Thank you so much for all the favs and follows! And thank you so so much for the reviews Pipkin in the Grass, TekamanBlade, and Jessica! SO glad to hear people are really enjoying this :) enjoy!_


	11. Chapter 11

Waking up while the sky was still dark was quite disorientating, and it took Annalise a moment to return to her bearings. She rubbed her eyes from the sleep collecting in their corners, before sitting up. The roaring fire from only a few hours prior was now a pile of smoldering embers, and the warmth of Alfred beside her was gone. A shiver ran through her.

Alfred was nowhere in sight, and her body immediately tensed up. It reminded her too much of when he had fought the horrific creature just a few days passed, and he had returned to her blood hungry. She scanned around her – he was nowhere in sight.

Had the night grown darker?

She curled her knees into her chest, worried that perhaps he had gone mad again – his episodes seemed random at best, returning whenever it pleased – and decided to chase after Eileen, her ideal clinging to his mind like a wet rag. Her eyes fell upon the sack of provisions he always kept close at hand, just out of her reach, and sighed. He would most definitely not leave for a long period of time without it – perhaps he was just relieving himself.

She crawled over to the woven bag, staying as close to the lukewarm fire as possible, and pulled it into her lap. Something in her gut tumbled, making her feel uneasy, but she chalked it up as her hunger and opened the bag. Perhaps he had some food that she could distract herself with while he was gone, if only to ease her fear of the monsters hidden within the shadows.

In all honesty she felt ravenous, more than she had in centuries, and the feeling added to the tension in her shoulders.

She dug in blindly, first feeling the smaller bag of silver bullets he always kept in excess, and then she heard the clink of glass vials. Perhaps it was a corked glass of water? She found it strange – a drinking skin would be much more practical, but she pulled out the vial in any case.

The blood beneath her skin burned when she was faced with a vial full of blood. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she dropped it out of fear and out of the singing of her blood. She had not heard it rise against her since her fall in Hemwick, but it did not sting now as she had remembered it. Her vision did not tunnel, and she did not feel, to the same extent, the wooziness that made her pass out. But it still burned her enough to make her not want to pick up the vial of blood once more.

Her heart rate picked up, fear and confusion clouding her vision: Was this the Church's new modicum of currency? Why did her blood not draw her back as much as it had before? She did not mind that the pain was not as strong as it once had been, but her mind was swimming with unanswered questions, and the further she went away from Cainhurst the more she did not understand – did not know.

She felt she was a thief and a stranger in this land, where Hunters were celebrated and the Church was godsend, and she was obviously not meant to be. She was a parasite. She shook the thoughts from her mind. Alfred would no doubt wish to stay in forsaken Yharnam until the morning was once again seen, perhaps hoping for the glory of being a Hunter that survived the terrible night, but she would not stay if she could help it, she decided.

She would leave Yharnam as soon as the opportunity arose, and she hoped Alfred would help her in doing so. She shook the thoughts from her mind. Their one goal now was to escape the Hunter that thirsted for her life. She could think about the morning when it came – it if ever would.

She stooped down until she could eye the vial of the ground without touching it, it having rolled on a short distance before landing in the grass near Annalise's thigh. A chill ran down her spine, the blood too familiar to her eyes to be coincidence, and yet somehow, it was changed. It was not the dark, thick substance that Laurence had fed to her. It was lighter, flowed through the vial like gas, yet alive, swirling in patterns even when she did not move it. She thought she saw the outline of a mask in the shape of a crow. Her blood hissed at the sight of it, as if offended.

A vial, no doubt, but modified as well – a crooked needle sat at its head, capped off with a piece of cloth. Was this…?

Her blood sang to her – telling her of the truth of the blood, of the madness of the beast blood. Controlled? It never was, but that did not mean the Church could not suppress it. She picked up the glass in her fingers and it burned their pads, but she did not let go of it.

She needed to see – needed to learn if the madness was within Alfred, or simply an addiction of healing. She had no doubt that under the tutelage of Laurence, the Church would delve into vile practices against their own Hunters. To what end? Perhaps simply to heal them – that was no doubt how Alfred was still alive after fighting so many horrible creatures – but she felt there was more behind the glassy eyes of the Healing Church. She heard rustling behind her and turned quickly, hiding the vial behind her back and standing up to her full height.

It was Alfred – eyes still swollen from crying, but something was different as well. His face seemed clear – light, like he had been lifted from some unspoken burden. Perhaps his nap had been kind to him, and allowed him a modicum of serenity. He smiled at her, tentatively, and called a greeting.

She smiled too, suddenly aware of her heart beating smoothly. He seemed so content, and peaceful, it soothed her in turn. She wanted to see more of this Alfred. This kind, gentle Alfred that was not afraid of her touch – was not afraid of years of Doctrine that spoke of her as a vile monster. She felt her cheeks flushing at his simple action.

Then the sinking feeling in her gut returned at what she was about to do, but she pushed it down. It would be for the better of them both. It would help her understand – she could help him.

That is – if he wanted to be saved?

She ran over to him quickly, catching him by surprise, and jumped into his arms. He was hesitant at first, but soon returned her embrace, his hands smoothing over her back and easing away the doubt she felt. She allowed herself the moment of comfort.

His arms were warm, and comfortable – he towered over her, his form wrapping over hers, and before she could hesitate a moment longer and rethink her actions –

She stabbed the vial still in her tight grip into his neck.

 **A/N:** _Woo! Another chapter. How's it going, too fast, too slow? Let me know! Thank you again to Pipkin in the Grass for the AWESOME review, we will just have to see where the night leads them next, but hopefully not near the end yet! ;)_


	12. Chapter 12

Alfred stared at Annalise for a moment, a hot surge of anger and embarrassment running through him when his kind gesture of a hug turned into her shoving something painful and quick into his neck. His neck throbbed from the impact of the metal contraption, and he rubbed at it as he tried to get his bearings straight. The moment the metal hit his skin, he felt woozy and hot, his mind becoming cloudy.

" _What-_ " he blubbered out, glaring at Annalise as she stared at him in return, eyes wide in horror and hands over her mouth.

"I-I'm sorry," she muttered.

Finally finding the thing she had shoved into his neck, he let out a breath of relief. It was just one of his blood vials that the Church had bestowed upon him for healing. He picked up the vial and looked at it, before turning back to Annalise. The anger had faded somewhat, but it still throbbed angrily in the back of his head – perhaps she had meant to hit his jugular with such a shot?

Nevertheless, his shoulders slumped in relief, and Annalise let out a horrified gasp.

"Y-you take those willingly? On purpose?" She whispered.

Alfred stared at her curiously, and he could not help the feeling of being a hunter stalking his prey.

"Yes, why would I not? They heal me – make me feel whole," he replied, in a trance. His mid was beginning to feel cloudy – the pleasant side effect the blood vials always brought with them. He felt at ease – losing himself for a time and feeling refreshed once the spell passed.

He was broken from his stupor by Annalise's hands cupping his cheeks. All of a sudden, the bubbling rage and cooling fog were released from his mind, but he noted absently that Annalise cringed as if in pain.

She stroked her thumb across his cheek, her icy eyes boring into him. He forgot what he wanted to say, "Do you not understand? The – the blood, it's driving you mad!"

His mind feels like it would explode in his skull, and he yelped in pain from the shock of the blow.

"You have to stop Alfred – it, it hurts too much!" she cried, and through his wave of pain he felt confusion – why would she be hurting? It made no sense, and his gut flipped angrily. He felt like he would vomit, and he was certain that the retching sound he heard was him.

"Why would the Church poison me?" He spat through his dry-retching, "What other lies do you have to tell me!" He felt like a blood vessel in his eye would pop if the strain in his head continued on the way it did – a heady beating that made his whole body jolt.

Annalise sat down on her haunches and yelled in pain, a horrified gasp that reminded him of an injured animal, waiting to be hunted. He eyed her for a moment, her eyes filled with pain and apprehension, and he began crawling towards her on all fours. Easier to get at her neck-

" _Alfred._ Stop – it hurts me too."

"How can it hurt you, little rabbit, when it doesn't hurt me at all?" He was almost upon her – stalking close and ready to jump if she were to try to escape.

Readying himself, he sprang on his hind legs, only to be stopped by a sharp slap to his face. He froze in his movements, tripping over himself and lying on one of his elbows and he touched the spot where Annalise slapped him. The dizziness from before was back, contrasting to the strange clarity he felt only a moment ago.

"It's the same blood, Alfred, but… _diluted_ or something of the sort," Annalise whispered, afraid he was still trapped in the weird trance the blood brought him.

He stared at her, scared of her and of himself, "W-what are you saying? The Church would not do that to its Hunters! You –"

"I _feel_ it," she grinded through her teeth, because although Alfred's reaction to the blood had subsided, hers sang to her, calling to her, its potency incredible. He watched as she blinked back tears, "My blood – it _feels_ it when you use those horrid vial. It's so happy when you do – feels its pull to the – the beast? The madness? It's horrible." She whimpered.

He tried to calm his breathing, become erratic again with – if what Annalise was saying true – her blood, "It becomes so strong I black out, sometimes," she added.

"That makes no sense, why would the Church poison its own?"

She crawled towards him once more, laying down flat on the ground beside him and hugging him tight. He felt, oddly, calmed and allowed her to hold the embrace while he kept himself balanced. Her warmth was comforting, made him grounded in the moment.

"Stay with me, please. If we – we fight it, we'll stay sane, at least for now," she took a deep breath and then sighed, "I think it's the same blood – I can feel it. Less strong than mine, though. Laurence must have refined it since condemning me to solitude," she sniffled a little, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, lying down beside her in the grass, "It makes sense – the healing properties are amazing, making the user almost immortal – perhaps, with the refined formula, to heal when needed without going completely mad, there is a side effect?"

Alfred breathed out, "The curse. A long-time coming, but each Hunter eventually turns into a beast – or goes mad, although I've never heard of them claiming their blood _sings_. A minor concession for healing?" It feels all too rational and too strange to be true. He holds onto Annalise tightly as another bought of the blood pooling in his head passes.

She nods against his chest, hair silver in the moonlight, "That is what must be it. An additive, for controlling the minds of the Church-followers. Easier to control, if you are all simple beasts, waiting for your leader's command. Perhaps that is what Laurence wanted of me, but…"

At that, he lets out a huff of laughter, "Oh gods, Annalise. What has this night become?" He feels madder than when the blood vial was shoved unceremoniously into his neck.

She sits up so that she can look down into his face. Her face looks tired and drawn. More than he could say for the Ice Queen he initially met – perhaps her blood is less strong here, drawn more to the power he possesses than to Cainhurst's empty halls? A bit more human, at least.

"I feel more tired than I have in ages," her eyes are just a little bit hollow, "Are we to meet your friend Djura now?"

He nods solemnly, "The road is short from here, and there is the Cathedral of Oedon, perhaps we will find good faith there," he thinks for a moment, "I will try not to use my vials."

Her eyes are suddenly filled with emotion, a little bit glassy, and he is drawn into their pull, "You better not. I'm counting on you, you know."

"Yes, to get you away from this damnable nightmare."

She shakes her head, running her hand along the side of his chest, "More than that."

He swallows thickly, "Well, let's get a move on then." He packs up the remains of his supplies, avoiding Annalise's ardent gaze. He empties the blood vials from the bag, but keeps one, "For good luck," he tells her, but he can't help the seed of doubt that perhaps Annalise is simply an amazing actor. He crushes the rest of the vials under his boot, and hears the blood hiss as it touches the grass beneath his feet.

Annalise bundles herself up in his Execution jacket, and she looks so small and fragile under its thick layers. Alfred lets out a bark of laughter, "Laurence thought he would be earning a loyal servant, and yet you fight him off and become immortal. Remind me not to cross your path."

Her laughter rings out into the night.

 **A/N:** _I think I'm mixing my tenses up – please let me know if I do! And I'm back, woohoo! I think I finally know where I want this story to go, and thank you so much for those that view this story, follow, fav, and thank you for the kind review Pipkin in the Grass! Your reviews make me so happy, and I'm happy you are enjoying this story so much._

 _Side note – is anyone else noticing they cannot see reviews for stories from the past day or two? Hopefully not just me!_


	13. Chapter 13

The stonework of Oedon Chapel glimmered in the moonlight, making the statues of otherworldly beings and mere mortals alike glow ethereally. The light refracted and bounced through the stained glass windows, and Annalise stood in awe at all of it. Her mouth hung open slightly as she took in the grandeur, the detail, the odd style which probably boomed after she was locked away and trapped for eternity.

"It's beautiful," she whispered to Alfred, her voice bouncing off the walls of the Church and making it infinitesimally too loud. Alfred hummed languidly in response.

As they entered the Chapel an old man with his cap hung low came into view, as well as an old woman with her head hung low, muttering to herself, and a nun, on her knees but not praying to anything in particular. When she crossed the threshold, only the nun looked up, her eyes narrowed, and Annalise wondered if she felt her blood thrumming in her veins, or if all the inhabitants were simply going mad as the night wore on.

"Good Executioner," the old man said, lowering his cap even more than it already was. Alfred nodded in acknowledgement, before his eyes too landed on the odd nun. He approached Annalise, placing his hand on the small of her back. Warmth seeped there. The nun lowered her eyes and returned to her inane prayers, and suddenly Oedon did not seem as friendly as it once did.

Alfred ushered her forward, until they were almost in the back of the large structure. Their steps echoed off the cold stone, and Annalise spotted a figure hunched and disfigured huddled in one corner of the grand church. Alfred overtook her, kneeling before the figure until their eyes were on the same level. Annalise stood and watched.

"Hello, dear friend," he muttered, friendly affection in his voice. At hearing it, Annalise finally realized how coolly her companion had been towards her all this time.

His voice had always been pleasant and warm, but it never held any of the affection, any of the passion as it did when he spoke to the crippled man before her. She frowned, almost unconsciously, at the thought. She corrected herself quickly enough, realizing she had done nothing in particular to earn his affection – she was in his debt. Perhaps she would have to remedy that.

"Alfred! So glad you could make it back, mah friend. 'Ave you fulfilled your oath, does your return warrant celebration?" The man had a thick accent, and was filled with energy and excitement.

Annalise wanted to approach the man as well – her life had been miserable as of late. The isolation was monotonous, like she was trapped in ice, but she had never felt such hardship and pains since she had left Cainhurst and the protection her blood warranted her. She felt hungry and cold and her bones ached from disuse. She could use this man's energy and optimism, to share in the hope that the night would not last forever. That the hunter would not catch her. But, she thought better of it, waiting for Alfred finish his conversation instead.

He glanced over his shoulder at her briefly, before turning back to the cloaked man, "Something of the sort, but there is no need to celebrate. No time, really. Do you have any food leftover; my companion has been on her feet for far too long and could use the sustenance. Also, have you had any further correspondence with Djura?"

The man nodded enthusiastically, first pulling out a bundle of letters and passing them to Alfred, "These are all addressed to you. You 'ave been gone for far too long!" Alfred thanked him and turned to one of the small tables lining the chapel. The man turned to Annalise, flashing her a wide but disfigured smile that almost made her return the gesture, "We 'ave some left over food in the storage, down that way, leading to t'e ol' Tomb. Don' worry, the 'Unter cleared it out already! O, but I think one o' the girls felt sick and wen' down there, so don' worry if you hear someone retching," She nodded her thanks, growing concerned over the woman in the sewers. But the man was still smiling and it was almost infectious, and she figured that as long as there was still some food left to eat she could not complain.

She glanced quickly at Alfred and approached, leaning over his shoulder to look at one of the letters Djura had sent to him, and whispered in his ear, "Why do we not stay here? There are supplies, the people are… quaint. We could wait out the rest of the Hunt here, wait for the morning to come," she imagined the sun's rays and open fields, away from the Yharnam's claustrophobic streets. It was so heavenly she almost did not dare picture such a future for herself.

He turned to her, eyes flashing, somewhere between annoyance and concern, "We cannot stay here, the Hunter frequents this spot, and I cannot afford for him to spot you," She felt touched by his words, but disappointed that she would not be able to converse further with the crippled man. He seemed friendly and she yearned for affection – it was silly, but she felt it nonetheless.

She pulled away, but Alfred pulled her back to him by the wrist, his hand warm and his grip tight. His eyes flickered, "Do not be gone long, be quick in getting only the food you need," his face grimaced in pain, "and if you find some bandages, bring them up as well."

"Of course," she replied softly, "You do not feel…?"

The Church fanatics wandering the streets had not made their trip to Oedon simple, and although Alfred was a skilled hunter, he had still sustained a gunshot wound to the thigh. Annalise was happy he had taken her word to heart, and for now had not taken any more blood vials. Thankfully the wound was minor, but no doubt painful.

"No," and for a moment she saw the genuine warmth seep into his gaze. Trust, "Perhaps you are not as crazy as you look."

She turned to find food before the grin that threatened to split her face seeped through.

The crypt of the Chapel felt dank and musky. Behind bookcases filled with old lore, a ladder led down to what looked like the storage space – cool and humid. It had flooded, but Annalise hoped that perhaps there were still some provisions left for her to eat and more for her to pack.

She descended the staircase into the semi-dark, and when she heard a moan escape from behind her, she jumped and turned around to find the case of the mysterious sound.

Ah, the woman she had been warned about. The man obviously did not know how her state had deteriorated, however, for the woman looked much worse than a simple hangover. Her head was thrown in her hands, chest heaving with her breaths, skin looking clammy and tight.

"Excuse me, but are you alright?" Annalise asked, not approaching any closer in case whatever the woman had was contagious. The woman cried out but otherwise did not respond. Her blood tingled, but it had become weaker and she did not feel like she would pass out from its pull.

Feeling risky and a little brave, Annalise approached the woman a step closer.

"My baby, my baby…" she struggled between sobs, and Annalise's heart thumped dangerously loud. As quiet as her blood was within the chapel before, it was practically singing now. She felt like it would burst forth from beneath her skin, leaving her completely, stripping her.

The woman finally looked up and Annalise's blood felt like it would pour out of her at any second the moment their eyes met. The same shade of ice blue. Noses and jaws that were too familiar. Annalise's eyes bulged, her body frozen to the spot. It couldn't but – no…

Her eyes flitted to the woman's dress and saw the familiar gold and red of Cainhurst. Her baby? _No_ , that was centuries ago, but this woman was of her blood. She could feel it, could see it in the slant of her shoulders and color of her hair. She was her baby in some small way. Annalise bit back a sob, feeling her heart thumping even louder, almost to the point of being painful.

Her baby was dead but this woman was of her flesh and she must have felt the connection too for she cried out worse than before. Her limbs felt numb and it felt much better than the roiling, simmering heat that her body was a moment ago. Her baby had survived and that was all she could think about in that moment.

Annalise stared and stared and stared, unsure of what to do with herself. The woman, over her screaming fit, tried reaching out to something beside her. Annalise's eyes finally moved from her almost-daughter to the strange mass wriggling beside her chair. "Baby," the woman whimpered.

At that, Annalise sobbed, letting the tears escape her eyes and burn tracks down her cheeks. Her family was cursed, line doomed to damnation. She looked closer at the wiggling mass, looking no more than a brown blob, more than two eyes bulging from its deformed head.

"Annalise?" She heard Alfred's desperate voice above her. He had either heard the screams or she had taken too long to return to his side. She let out another garbled cry in response.

He quickly descended the ladder, staring at her and the distressed woman with confused and concerned eyes, "What…?" he began, before also spotting the mass blob. His eyes widened in horror.

Annalise buried herself into his side, keeping her eyes on ice eyes that were too familiar to be coincidence, "My baby, my baby," she whimpered. Her blood boiled, mocking her, making her stomach clench in pain and hunger. His arms tightened around her, out of protection and comfort, and she once again tried to find relief in his grip. It would not come.

 **A/N:** _Another chapter, leaving it here for now ;) thank you all so much for the favorites and follows once again, and all of the lovely reviews I have received, I hoped you like this chapter! Let me know ~_


	14. Chapter 14

Alfred pushed Annalise behind him, her small hands gripping his robes, her shattered sobs echoing across the basement of Oedon Chapel. He had seen the woman before him in the Chapel during his more frequent visits. Arianna, a woman of the night.

Her moaning had grown louder as she attempted lifting herself from her chair. Something was horribly wrong, the brown mass writhing near her feet reacting to her every movement. Alfred sensed it in the air, and instinctively wrapped his arms around Annalise, tightening his hold on her, keeping his eyes narrowed and on the woman in red.

Annalise didn't stop however, only crying out hysterically for Arianna as if she was the daughter she spoke of so long ago. Perhaps she too was succumbing to the madness of the blood. He hoped not, and he gripped her chin, forcing her to look in his eyes.

She looked miserable, tired, with fear clouding her eyes. He felt a jolt in his stomach at the sight, aware of his teeth grinding against each other.

"She is not your daughter, Annalise," he tried to speak calmly, but the moans were turning into shouts and screams of agony. His jaw was tight and he cupped her cheek, "Stay with me."

"She is me. A part of me. A descendant of the baby I never held. I feel it in my blood. Do you think a normal woman would create such a monster?" She was jittering in his arms, terrified yet trying to hold back the tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes, her eyes flickering down to the creature on the floor.

He blanched, "It is a parasite."

" _Her_ parasite," she whispered in horror, "The Cainhurst line is cursed and it is all my doing."

He turned away from Arianna to look at the miserable woman in his arms. Cursed for generations and sent to see her heir destroyed by insanity. A hot wave of anger tore through him - at who, he was unsure. He felt rage bubbling, wanting to take it out on whoever caused this savage retribution to a woman who should have been long dead.

But then he remembered Laurence and the Church and…

He took a step back from the scene before him, trying to catch a moment. The blood in him was bubbling with adrenaline, and he had to calm himself before the urge to bite into Annalise's neck, suck her dry, became too heavy.

"Please, save my baby," she whispered helplessly, attempting to reach out to the hysterical woman behind her, but Alfred blocked her.

"Do not touch that –" He pushed her away then, feeling Arianna's hand snaking its way around his neck. She continued moving onto him, supporting herself on his back as she wrapped her hands tightly around his neck.

" _Make it stop_ ," the deranged woman screamed, his ears popping from her screeching voice.

His eyes stayed on Annalise, frozen in place and unmoving, no doubt contemplating what to do. He grabbed Arianna's hands, trying to pull them from his neck, his throat constricted by her vice grip. His head felt light and empty, but he continued to pull nonetheless, attempting to shake of the psychotic woman clinging to his back. He was not even certain she was aware of what she was doing.

Stumbling backwards, his foot slammed into the wriggling monster by his feet, squishing it beneath his heel. It let out a pathetic warble, before it slumped, a pile of no more than mush. Arianna's hands loosened around his neck, and he pushed up before her dead weight made him fall on top of her.

She lay against the ground, body prone and unmoving. A single, choked cry escaped Annalise's body before she approached the other woman's body, touching her face and cheeks and nose, as if she was a mere babe.

"My only family," she lamented, quietly, trying to hug Arianna even though her form was heavy with death.

Alfred kneeled beside her, for once feeling the loneliness of the Vileblood Queen seep into his bones. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"I am sorry," he whispered into the hair covering the crown of her head.

Annalise tensed, "It is better this way. My blood dies with –"

"Arianna," Alfred supplied.

Annalise shook, but he could not see her face, "A lovely name. Arianna. My blood dies with Arianna, and no more shall have to live such a cursed existence. Except, perhaps, I. If I survive this dreadful night."

Annalise pushed away, her limbs stiff with pain and loneliness. Without another word he pulled Arianna's body over his back, dragging her down into the cemetery below, to lay with his once mentor Father Gascoigne, and hopefully find peace from the night. He could not help but think of poor Eileen.

Perhaps it was better this way.

Annalise watched, hunched over, a ball rolled in on herself. Once Alfred approached her again, the duty of burying another friend heavy on his back, her shoulders straightened resolutely, as if coming to a decision or closing herself off, and made to stand up. Before she could, Alfred pulled her into a hug. She tensed in his arms, but almost immediately relaxed, molding herself to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

His blood calmed, and he felt the heat of her body against him. It was pleasant, and he had not realized how much a little amount of comfort would mean to Annalise, how much she would need it. Silly things overlooked by the Church in favor of power, she missed.

And he had not realized how much he missed it as well. Hugging his mother or his father or the simple joy of knowing someone was beside you.

She buried her face into his neck, and he felt her hot tears escaping into the fabric of his undershirt. Poor girl. Trapped away.

They sat that way along time, Annalise trying to burrow herself into Alfred's strong chest, stay there for eternity, Alfred feeding off of her warmth, before her stomach groaned, protesting its hunger. She laughed awkwardly, a hollow sound, extricating herself from his arms to find some of the food in the old pantry. As Alfred stretched his stiff limbs, Arianna forgotten for the moment, a thought popped into his head.

Trapped in stone walls, Annalise had not eaten in centuries, at least. And now her stomach was growling for food. In her icy fortress, not one of her fingers was frost-bitten, yet now she wore his tunic like a cape for the best of royalty.

Perhaps she could bleed? Her arms could run red with blood, if she was so far from the castle. If her body refused to keep itself nourished when she left for Yharnam. She could die.

He felt a prick in the back of his hands at the thought. He could slice through her with ease, vanquish the night of the horrible monster of Cainhurst once and for all. She would not resurrect. He would be a hero of the Church once the sun would rise again.

He felt the throbbing of his injured leg, and watched as Annalise flitted around the pantry, looking for whatever scrapes were left over. He had left his wheel upstairs, but he still had his blunderbuss… Could feel the cold metal against his hand. His finger flicked over the barrel.

She turned around to face him, a hesitant smile on her face, and the uncomfortable pricking stopped. Her eyes lit up slightly while she smiled, he noted.

"For your wound," she passed into his hands a wad of bandages, slick with a small amount of ointment.

Her hands were warm as well. She turned back to her scavenging, trying to store as much food as she could within the folds of her dress and his tunic.

He braced himself against the ladder, slowly starting to wrap the bandage around his wounded leg. He had completely forgotten about it when Annalise did not return from the cellar. Was it from adrenaline? Perhaps the blood was more prevalent than he thought, and Annalise was right; but, the thought made him cringe, thinking about all the blood now symbolized. He took comfort in the steady throbbing now coming from his leg.

"Do you still wish to die, Annalise?" The words left his mouth before he could process them, and Annalise froze.

She turned to face him slowly, "What?"

"You told me you wished to die, once. If you could, would you still want the release of death?" His gaze bore into her. He could see her hesitation, but she held her poise.

No doubt afraid of him.

"If I could die, would you still wish to kill me?"

He thought of it a moment, and knew his answer, and promptly lied through his teeth, "Perhaps."

She flicked her eyes towards the muck covered ground, "Then I am glad that I am invincible. Enough have died on this night, and perhaps I should save my graces and not be one of them."

Alfred's eyes widened imperceptivity at the quiet confession, but quickly hid it by finishing bandaging his wound. A sliver of guilt found its way into his stomach, knotting within itself and festering as he continued watching Annalise.

He noticed a broken shard of glass lying on the floor near his feet, and picked it up. He flipped it over in his hand, the edges sharp and dangerous. Annalise's movements filled the silent air.

Perhaps Annalise wasn't the only one who could surprise.

Once she was finished tying her skirts in a makeshift hammock and filling it with food, and before she could reach for the ladder, Alfred grasped her hand in his. A hint of red returned to her cheeks, and he wondered how he could have such a strange effect on this woman.

A quick slash was all it was, but it brought a hiss to Annalise's lips, and she tried pulling away from him, only to be held firm by his grip.

" _What –"_ She started angrily.

"Blood flask," he stated and she quieted down almost immediately.

"I guess I deserved it, then. Are you done with your punishment?"

"This is not – just, look," he answered, frustrated already.

Annalise drew her attention back to her hand, which was still bleeding, small rivulets of blood marking rivers down her palm. She flinched, confused.

"What?" she asked, less angry and more confused, "It was just a shallow cut, it should have healed by now. Why – but –" It was, in all honesty, quite amusing watching her become so flustered. But now was not the time.

"Maybe you are not as invincible as you claim to be," he stopped her mumbling, and her mouth was stuck open in shock.

She tried escaping his grasp once again, but he held firm. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and he saw the fear swimming in her gaze.

"I have not lied to you! I – I don't know what happened, but _please_ , do not seek your retribution through more blood. I -"

" _Annalise,"_ her name was a slip from his tongue, smooth, "Trust me."

She did not, he knew, even when she calmed down and allowed him to hold her hand. She turned away, afraid of the consequences, mortal enemies now mortal. It was only a matter of the time before the Queen fell, after all.

He drew her hand up to his lips, the blood already drying and flaking away, and he kissed where he had cut her before. Appropriate.

Annalise stared at him, the uncertainty written in her features she could not hide.

"Why?" She asked, and possibilities upon possibilities presented themselves as answers. Alfred thought a moment, but did not answer, and turned from her to the long ladder back to Oedon.

A show of trust. The least he could do.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the favs and follows, and for the continued reviews Pipkin in the Grass! You rock! Hopefully this chapter was more progressive, but maybe not :)_


	15. Chapter 15

Annalise sat back against the cool stone of the Chapel, eating the pieces of mouldy cheese and bread she had scrounged up sparingly. The food made her stomach calmer yet more agitated at the same time. Alfred sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching, just a breadth apart.

They would try to rest and then leave in the next few hours for Old Yharnam and Djura. The bloody moon's light flooded Oedon's floor, making it swirl in shades of orange and yellow. Alfred sat quietly beside her, reading through the rest of the missives sent to him while he was gone.

While he was attempting to murder her.

She dropped the piece of stale bread she was eating back into her lap, staring unseeing in front of herself. She raised the hand that he had cut earlier to her face, looking at the jagged line and dried blood. Almost as red as the moon. She smoothed her thumb over the mark of her new fate, feeling the sting of the wound. She had not felt pain in too long a time.

The cut was almost jarring, but she did not allow the hiss of pain bubbling in her throat to escape her lips, lest she drew Alfred's attention. A trickle of fresh blood escaped the shallow wound and she watched, mesmerised.

She was not the venomous Queen she once pretended to be. She would bleed and she would, one day, die. The thought was more chilling now.

The Blood was strange and left more questions than answers, but she did not wish to seek the eldritch truth. If this meant that she would not live for centuries in a shallow grave…

A warm hand encompassed her own, and Alfred pulled her hand into his lap, "Don't do that," he admonished. She continued staring at her other hand, now also stained in blood, "What are you thinking about?"

She blinked, "You asked me before if I still wished to die."

He tensed beside her, she felt it, "Yes, I did."

She tentatively entwined her fingers with his own, and was pleasantly surprised when he did not pull away, "Once this is all over, you are returning to the Church."

He hesitated a moment before replying, and it was not lost on her, "An Executioner does not leave the Church."

It did not answer her question but she did not push the matter.

"And I now bleed as anyone does. The blood does not protect me so far from its birthplace. And you did not kill me."

"…No, I did not." This time his answer was resolute.

She did not ask for reasons. Perhaps he would give none. Just a simple nod of recognition, a truce between them that she was mortal, but he was too.

"Thank you."

"And what will you do once the night has passed? Not return to Cainhurst, I suppose."

She had thought about it before, but now with the cracks in her dry hands and her chapped lips and empty stomach, it seemed more plausible that the day would be coming. The night would lift and she could perhaps simply be Annalise.

"Perhaps my blood is not as tainted as I thought it."

Alfred caressed the hand entwined with his with his other, "Your blood is not tainted. The blood delivered to you is. And for now it lies dormant, I think."

"…I would like to live," she felt him relax beside her, and it brought her a small amount of pleasure, "I would like to live and have a home. And someone to share my home with, and maybe…" She rubbed her hand across her abdomen.

"Have a child?" Alfred's voice was low now, and perhaps a little husky as well. It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"Yes, a child of my own. Of _my_ blood."

Alfred swallowed thickly, "You will no doubt want to leave Yharnam."

She thought of Alfred. And then she thought of the Church.

"A tricky question."

"It would be more peaceful, away from this accursed city."

She looked at him finally, saw the hesitation in his own eyes at her answer. His eyes were so dark, so deep, they pulled her in. She had not seen him so vulnerable before, or more likely, he had never willingly showed it before. She felt the intertwining of their hands, and placed her head on his shoulder, avoiding his gaze.

He did not pull away, and she was thankful for the warmth.

"Yharnam could be peaceful, once the night is over," she finally concluded, her voice soft and inviting.

A calm silence overtook them both, enjoying the closeness between them, the warmth of another human being.

"Tell me of your childhood. Your family, I mean," Annalise eventually broke through, "You have heard of my past, yet I know barely anything of you."

A breathy laughed escaped his lips, and the sound was lovely. Annalise wished she heard it more often.

"There is not much to tell. A boy born of a man that lived in the barracks of Yharnam, fighting and killing and winning wars. He was not around often. My mother was ill, as most mothers become. Eileen was an old family friend of ours, and when I was passed my fifth summer she took me and my mother to the Church, if only the blood could save her. I was enamoured, but my mother was passed treating. She died in her sleep, thankfully. My father never learned of her death, he died a year later to a foreign country's sword. I had not seen him since I was a babe. Eileen trained me, as you well know. And now they are all dead," his voice was strained and Annalise assumed there was more to his story than the sparse details he choked through the lump in his throat. Again, she did not push.

Instead, she burrowed closer into his side, and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. She dared flick his neck with her nose, the underside of his jaw as well, and he moved into her touch. A shuddering breath escaped his lips, and she blew hot breaths onto his skin.

"I am glad I saved you," he confessed.

She swallowed, "I am as well. I'm glad it was you."

"Annalise, Annalise, Annalise…" he whispered her name like a prayer, his face slowly lowering down to hers.

His eyes stared into hers, smouldering and everything she had missed from human companionship. Unrivaled trust. Sympathy, warmth. It made the breath in her lungs stutter.

"You are to be the death of me," he continued.

"Most likely," she giggled lightly, the night suffocating them both.

"The blood must be driving me _mad,"_ his grin was feral, and she remembered the way his teeth ran over her throat when he was in the throes of the blood, the way he could eat her up whole if he so pleased.

Part animal. But his eyes were clear, for now. The blood in his vials shattered, the Church no longer calling to the beast inside of him. She was a monster, too.

"Then so be it."

His lips were warm and his body was hard and solid. Swallowed her whole and she couldn't even find her breath. Nothing romantic or soft. Teeth and tongues clashing and fighting, drinking each other up and not having enough. She would suffocate this way, she knew. And it would be a welcome death, one she would not regret.

The warmth of companionship in his arms drew her closer still, and when he once again pulled away she keenly felt the loss.

"A sweet death you shall be, Queen," he murmured against her throat, sucking at the soft flesh there like a wolf.

She stayed quiet, threading her hands through his hair as he ate her up, filling up the empty cracks and crevices time wore into her skin. A doomed affair, she mused, but at least it was not tainted with blood.

 **A/N:** _Thank you again for all the support :) hope you all liked this shorter chapter_


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